Quintessentially Romantic
by volley
Summary: Friend In Need. It is the morning after the ship has been taken over by the "wisps", and Malcolm seems off. Trip, of course, can't let him be... Coda to The Crossing


Another Friend In Need fic - I hope you haven't grown tired of them yet, ;-)

RoaringMice was my super beta reader.

* * *

"I swear, Capt'n: my butt was just about as sore as if I'd been ridin' with Hoppalong Cassidy for real."

Archer chuckled, his merry eyes dancing briefly on Trip before he raised the carafe to offer him and T'Pol some juice.

With a predictable 'no thank you' the Vulcan Officer set her spoon down and raised a slightly judgemental gaze on the Chief Engineer. "It appears that you found the experience agreeable, Commander," she commented.

Trip lifted his glass for Archer to fill it. _Vulcan-repressing-of-emotions my foot_ – Trip mused, sucking on his teeth: T'Pol's voice had held a noticeable touch of sarcasm. "I went ridin', snowboardin', saw my former girlfriend, relived a nice childhood memory with my dad and had a pile of delicious spareribs..." He shrugged. "If those creepy wisps hadn't had a secret agenda, it would have been just a lot of fun, actually."

That won him a longer, steady look and a silent yet meaningful lift of Vulcan eyebrows. It was funny how that simple mannerism of hers could convey so many different messages.

Trip rolled his eyes. "T'Pol, I _know_ it ended up bein' a dangerous situation. What I'm tryin' to say is that there was a fun side to it as well." He sought the Captain's support, but the man was busy shaking salt on his Eggs Benedict.

"I fail to see anything enjoyable about the experience, Commander," the Vulcan Officer replied, in a tone that seemed flatter than usual.

"It wasn't the same for everyone, Trip," Archer commented. Green eyes shifting to T'Pol, in a fatherly forgiving tone, he added, "I haven't given him the full report," before digging back into his breakfast.

Trip pensively watched the Vulcan Officer raise a spoonful of that brothy thing she called a breakfast to her lips. As a matter of fact, now that he thought of it, he didn't exactly know what had happened to the others. He was about to open his mouth, when T'Pol lowered her spoon with finality to the unfinished bowl and wiped her mouth, replacing her napkin neatly on the table.

"If you'll excuse me, Captain," she said, "I wish to do something before my Bridge shift begins."

The words caught Archer with a full mouth; smiling awkwardly, he hurried to swallow his morsel. "Of course, go ahead," he complied.

Trip followed the cat-suited form's retreat – always an _agreeable_ _experience _with_ enjoyable aspects_ – then turned back to his C.O.

"What happened to her?" he enquired deadpan. "She seems off."

"Ah, well, she's..." Archer faltered. "She's probably still upset from when one of those wisps attacked her," he finally said. "It must have been an upsetting experience; I told you that she fought off one of those beings who was trying to take over her mind. She was upset by it."

Trip blinked. Archer might not be a great orator – his famous gazelle speech still made Trip cringe, when he thought of it – but could generally do better than _that._

"And you think that's all that's _upsettin'_ her?" he teased.

Oblivious to the ribbing, Archer passed the napkin over his mouth, eyes, above it, suspiciously innocent. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"So, tell me." Trip waved a hand in a circular motion. "What exactly happened to the other people who were taken over? Ya know, Hoshi, Malcolm..."

"They..." Archer bit his lip. "You know that, Trip," he went on dismissively. "I had to lock them in their quarters."

"No, I mean, what happened to _our_ people when those wisps took over their bodies; where were they sent? Is it possible that only _I_ was sent to the playground, so to speak?"

Frowning pensively, Archer admitted, "Actually, I haven't asked them." A moment later a chuckle broke his serious mask. He shook his head. "But I'm sure Malcolm was glad to regain possession of his body. I bet he's--"

The man cut himself off abruptly, and Trip watched his eyes subtly track to a nondescript spot on the tablecloth.

"He's _what_?" he prompted. But Archer grabbed his glass, gulped down his juice and rose.

"How stupid of me, I forgot to give Porthos his breakfast," he mumbled.

As he watched another, definitely less interesting backside disappear behind the closing door, Trip narrowed his gaze.

Well, this just begged to be looked into.

* * *

Exiting the Captain's Private Mess, Trip scanned the busy Mess Hall.

Enterprise was reawakening to a new day, no doubt about it. The A-shift crew was up and getting ready to go on duty, and the place was crowded and noisy. There might be no sunrise out of the large porthole, but one didn't need it to know what time of the day it was: cutlery clinked, voices buzzed, uniforms looked pristine, and the strong aroma of coffee filled the air, mingling with wafts of shampoo and after-shave.

It took Trip a moment to find the people he was looking for, but finally he caught a glimpse of Hoshi and Travis, walking trays-in-hand towards a free table. The person he most wanted was nowhere to be seen, but he might sound the ground with the two of them first.

Taking advantage of a rare break in the line at the drink dispenser, Trip got himself another coffee – one more could never hurt – and started resolutely towards their table.

"Ensigns," he greeted. "Mind if I sit with you guys?"

Hoshi's smile was warm and welcoming. "Of course not, Commander."

"Didn't you forget something, Sir?" Travis enquired, shooting a disapproving glance at Trip's lonely cup.

Slipping into his seat, Trip grinned – Mayweather had one of the healthiest appetites on board. "I've had breakfast with the Capt'n and T'Pol already. Just having second helpings of wake-up juice."

Travis grinned back. "That's good to know. I was beginning to fear that the crew was falling prey to some alien bug." At Trip's questioning glance, and Hoshi's silent 'I know as much as you do' shrug, he went on to explain, "I met Lieutenant Reed in the corridor." The lively dark eyes bounced back and forth from one to the other. "When I asked him if he was headed for the Mess he said he wasn't hungry. Seemed off."

_Hmm_.

Spreading his napkin over his legs, Travis wasted no more time before digging into his pancakes, and Trip watched him eat, sipping on his drink.

"So you found a way to escape those wisps, huh?" he threw him after a while. That much, at least, he knew.

Travis's eyes came up from his plate with a hint of dread in them. "I'm sure glad I did," he groaned. "It was a relief to realise they weren't coming through the hatch to the catwalk. It was a close call, though."

"Lucky you," Hoshi commented deadpan. "I would have gladly done without the experience."

Trip studied the Linguist's far-from-happy face. Time to do a bit of digging. "Between us," he said, "Now that things have turned out okay, I thought it was kind of fun."

Travis's fork – pancake and all – stopped in mid-air. "With all due respect, Commander, that uppercut you landed on me wasn't all that much fun. You scared the hell out of me."

"_I_ landed on _you_..." Trip frowned in puzzlement. He'd been riding with Hoppalong Cassidy and snowboarding and... Damn… "You mean that that wisp in my body..."

Travis nodded slowly. "Yup. Good, heavy punch."

The man passed a hand over his jaw, and Trip saw, on a closer inspection, that it was slightly bruised. "Hell, I'm sorry, Travis," he offered, with a contrite wince.

"Nah, it wasn't you, Commander. And my jaw is still in one piece."

"Thank God for that," Trip breathed out, as he watched their Helmsman return to his pancakes.

After a moment Trip turned to Hoshi. "I hope at least those wisps sent you some place nice."

Sullen eyes levelled on him from above a steaming cup of tea. "I was back in the class of the creepiest teacher I've had in all of my years at school," Hoshi said in a deadpan voice. "An old witch who has forever turned me off from math and numbers in general."

"Holy smoke!" Travis chuckled.

That was not what Trip would call a nice place. He lifted his eyebrows. "That's all? No fun at all?"

Hoshi's mouth twitched in a quick lopsided smirk. "No. Unless you consider fun a huge family reunion where you know the elders are watching your every move lest you slip with tradition."

Trip pictured Hoshi awkwardly wrapped in one of those elaborate Japanese costumes, and winced. "Definitely _not_ as much fun as snowboarding," he agreed.

"Oh, yeah," Hoshi remembered. "I was also back in Brazil, teaching my students. That was okay, except for the part when a big spider walked up my bare leg."

Just the thought of that was enough to send a shiver down Trip's spine. He smirked in disgust, wondering how big spiders got in Brazil. He wasn't going to ask.

"Aside from the fact," Hoshi continued, "that the wisp in my body tried to kill Phlox. So, to answer your question – no: no fun at all. In fact, the sooner I can forget about yesterday the better."

Trip fell silent. The wisp in his body had also apparently attacked Phlox; fortunately the Denobulan had showed secret combat skills, prevailing over both of them and saving the day.

"I wonder if those beings chose those particular memories for each of us randomly or picked them for some reason," he said, almost to himself, after a moment.

"I don't really want to know," Hoshi said.

Travis grinned. "If I'd been taken over, I wouldn't have minded going back to the time when Paul and I were kids. We found some colourful alien liquor in our cargo." His smile fell abruptly. "Though I would never want to relieve the moment my father found us totally smashed."

Trip chuckled, shaking his head. He'd earned himself quite a few fine dressing-downs from his dad as well, as a child. But as strict fathers went, he suspected Malcolm's beat them all.

"I hope Malcolm was made to relieve somethin' pleasant," he said. "I'm beginning to feel like the only person who had a good time."

"I guess you'll have to ask him," Hoshi said, putting her cup down. Getting up, she nodded. "I'll see you on the Bridge. Commander, Ensign."

Trip watched her move away.

"Lieutenant Reed didn't look like he was in a particularly good mood," Travis said, drawing back Trip's attention. "If you ask me, those wisps didn't treat him too kindly either."

"Ah, you know Malcolm: he's probably kicking himself for failing to protect the crew," Trip suggested.

"There's that," Travis said. But he didn't sound at all convinced.

* * *

Trip opened the Armoury door and almost banged into T'Pol, who was about to leave.

"Subcommander," he said in surprise.

Hadn't she told Archer she had something to do before the shift started? He would've never thought it was in the Armoury, of all places.

"Commander."

The Vulcan Officer tilted her head to one side, returning the greeting. Then she sinuously slipped out and left, heading for the turbo lift. Trip gave a mental shrug – he'd never understand the woman – and entered Reed's domain.

It took him a moment – and Müller's help – to find the man himself. Malcolm had apparently just disappeared inside an access tube, mumbling that something needed fixing. As Bernhard showed him to the right place, his green eyes sent him a silent S.O.S.; like saying 'bad mood in progress, please see what you can do'.

Indeed, the Armoury Officer was buried deep in the narrow confines, kneeling in front of an open panel with wires spewing out of it. The man had his neck craned, and as he studied the multi-coloured entanglement Trip could hear him mutter under his breath.

Bending, Trip entered the tube and started along it; he was half way there when Malcolm called, "Bernhard, get me some pliers, will you?" to what he obviously thought was his approaching SIC.

"It's not like you to come unprepared, Lieutenant," Trip commented teasingly.

Malcolm turned abruptly to the unexpected voice, not looking particularly happy to see him. Closing the gap between them, Trip unzipped a leg pocket and handed his friend the desired tool. He always carried a few basic utensils with him.

"Thanks," Malcolm grunted, grey eyes evasive. He turned back to his job.

Settling on his haunches, Trip studied the mess at hand. "Anythin' I can help with?"

"Nothing I can't take care of myself," Malcolm replied in an accent that was a bit too clipped, even for him. "No need to disturb the Chief Engineer."

He isolated a wire, disconnected it, and proceeded to strip its end.

Trip put one knee to the ground. "What's wrong?" he asked deadpan. This was one man on edge he had here.

"Bad connection," was the terse reply.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that. What I mean is what's up with you. Travis said you didn't have breakfast."

Malcolm shot him one of his pissed-off glances. "Can't a man skip breakfast without becoming a case for study?" he ranted. "I'm perfectly fine. Just wasn't hungry. It happens in the best of families."

Yeah, sure. If there was someone on board who could stand up to Travis as far as hearty breakfasts went, it was their resident Brit. Trip silently watched him reconnect the wire. His movements were tense, and he could see the muscles of his face work. Mister Construction Worker was doing it again – he mused; quickly building a sturdy wall behind which to hide. But Trip was not going to be discouraged so fast. He handed the Lieutenant the screwdriver that was on the floor, which he knew Malcolm was about to need, and when he made to take it didn't release it, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"I hope you're not feelin' bad because the ship was taken over by those wisps," he told him firmly. Not that this kind of reasoning had ever worked with their overly scrupulous Security Officer, but you never knew.

Malcolm gave him an icy look and pried the screwdriver out of Trip's grip. "I'm _not_ feeling bad for that," he said, frost coating his words. He turned to screw the panel back on.

"But you're feelin' bad," Trip insisted, as amicably as he could manage.

Stopping, Malcolm let his head fall forward and heaved a long-suffering sigh; when he turned, his gaze had narrowed dangerously.

"Trip, have you come here to pester me? Because I'm sure you could find a better use for your time; I don't need someone to hand me tools."

"Ah, but you just asked Müller to bring you pliers," Trip teased. What the hell; Malcolm really took himself too seriously, sometimes. Most of the time. Trying to ignore the piercing grey gaze, he went on lightly, "Look, I've only come to check on you, 'cause Travis said you didn't look well." With a smile, he threw, "Besides, I was curious to know if those beings had sent you snowboardin' too."

A few, very long seconds ticked by; Trip had time to think it was a good thing he was not one of Lieutenant Reed's subordinates.

"Where those wisps sent me is none of your business, Commander," Malcolm finally said.

When his voice dropped deep, like now, one had to watch out: it was always a useful metre of the man's anger – the deeper the angrier.

"Sorry," Trip croaked out. With an apologetic smile he added, "Just forget it. Didn't mean to get you upset." Hell, now he was sounding like Archer.

"I'm not upset."

Malcolm turned back to his job, his stubborn claim belied by the energy he was applying to driving the screw in place. It would be a miracle if he didn't end up pushing it well past the panel it was supposed to hold up.

"It's what that bloody wisp did with my body, rather, that..." he unexpectedly muttered; but the rest of the sentence never made it out, dammed as it was behind pursed lips.

Now, this was interesting. Just a moment before Malcolm had told him rather tersely to mind his own business, and suddenly he was opening a crack and almost taking him into his confidence. Trip hesitated. Something about the man almost spoke of… yes, _outrage_.

"I hope he didn't try to stuff it with food like mine did," he tried, watching Malcolm viciously attack another screw. "I think I owe the Capt'n a thank you; if he hadn't stopped the damn thing I – or rather, my body – would've probably been sick."

Malcolm's arms dropped listlessly down, and he leaned back on his heels, deflating. "I... he... whoever it was…" he stuttered. Filling his lungs, he continued, voice low, eyes lowered, "Apparently I harassed a crew woman in the turbo-lift with idiotic questions about males and females, and then..."

Trip saw him dart a surreptitious look, and carefully controlled his own expression, which threatened to show a bit too much curiosity and make the man clam up again. "And then?" he prompted, striving for a neutral tone.

"I... he... _it_ went to T'Pol's quarters and… well…"

Silence stretched. Malcolm winced, a blush creeping up his neck, which made Trip frown in sudden suspicion.

"Ya don't mean..."

"I'm afraid I do mean."

Trip blinked. "Son-of-a--"

"Oh, no, I _don't_ mean!" Malcolm hurried to amend, his eyes growing wide. "I mean, not as far as _that_," he choked out in horror. "Good heavens, by now I would have shoved myself out an airlock."

"What _do_ you mean, then?" Trip burst out, no longer able to feign disinterest. Was it possible Malcolm could not tell him plainly, man to man?

Malcolm placed two fingers on his eyes. "The bloody wisp in my body made some rather lecherous overtures to T'Pol," he finally confessed, his voice thick with unease. "Fortunately, before I... _he_ could act on his words, she was able to page Security and the Captain." With a soft snort he tagged, "Of all people."

Trip frowned in thought. No wonder T'Pol had seemed put off by his amusement.

"Oh, boy," he commented deadpan, almost to himself.

With a sigh Malcolm broke his immobility and resumed his work, albeit less furiously. Moments later all four screws were in place, and he was handing the borrowed tool back. His grey eyes were like quicksilver, unable to stay on Trip's for longer than an instant at a time.

"Hey, it wasn't you," Trip said, feeling sorry for his friend's unease.

"I know, I know," Malcolm muttered. "But now when I meet T'Pol or the Captain, or even my own security men – not to mention that poor crew woman – I can't look them in the eye. I feel like digging a hole in the deck-plating to hide in."

Trip raised playful eyebrows. "You'd only drop to the deck below." His joke fell flat, and was followed by a beat of silence. Suddenly something struck him. "So that's why I just saw T'Pol leave the Armoury," he blurted out.

Malcolm winced. "Right. She came to set my mind at ease, and only managed to make me even more uptight." Falling to a sitting position, he leaned back against the bulkhead. "'Lieutenant," he said, mimicking T'Pol's typical tone. "I have come to assure you that nothing inappropriate passed between us – other than your appreciation of my aesthetic attributes, and your request that I remove my clothes so we could mate more easily. I am pleased, however, that I did not need to use Vulcan martial arts on your body, which would undoubtedly have resulted in damage to the same.'" Malcolm groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Why _me_, of all people?"

Trip bit his lip to restrain a chuckle. He could imagine his friend's dismay when T'Pol had delivered that speech. Following suit, he sat down on the floor across from him. "Why _not_ you?" he countered, not sure he understood the 'of all people' part.

"Because. I'm not like that!"

"Well, as to that, I hope nobody on board is a sex maniac."

Malcolm smirked. "Come on, Trip, you know what I mean."

"Actually, I don't," Trip said, after a moment's thought. "Unless you mean that you're not interested in…" – he jerked his head sideways – "Uhm, ya know."

Malcolm shot him a nasty look. "Be serious. It's that I'm…" His grey eyes turned wary, and he seemed to gauge if he dared go on. "I'm the romantic type," he finally expounded.

Licking his lips, Trip tried once again to restrain his mirth. Teasing Malcolm was more fun if he managed to hide his intentions behind a straight face. "Oh, yeah, you and I were quite the romantic types on Risa," he said.

"That was… a stupid stunt. I'm not like that!"

"How about when you asked me what I thought of T'Pol, if I had ever looked at her, _ya know, that way_?" Trip went on mercilessly, drunken slur and all.

"I was drunk!" Malcolm exclaimed in outrage.

Trip shrugged. "In vinum – or should I say Bourbon? – veritas." This time he couldn't keep a wide grin off his face seeing the stunned expression of the man before him. "My _core curriculum_ did include Latin, in addition to Superman," he said with a chuckle.

The dread that appeared on Malcolm's face instantly sobered him up.

"You mean to tell me that that wisp chose my body because somehow he thought it was a fitting frame for his debauched aspirations?" Malcolm wondered. "Bloody hell," he cursed softly.

"What?" That was a rather wide leap of logic – or at least an unpredictable deduction – and it took Trip a moment to react. "Hey, I never meant that," he hurried to say when he finally found his voice again. He watched the other man hug himself defensively, and felt a pang of conscience for his ribbing.

"Perhaps that's even why he went to T'Pol, of all people," Malcolm went on with a grimace. "Because he had accessed that memory of mine; because of what I told you that time."

"Malcolm, that's insane," Trip insisted. "Don't you start feelin' all guilty now about somethin' that's totally unlikely."

"I'm not like that, am I?" Malcolm asked, suddenly hesitant, as if he weren't sure any more. He stretched his neck. "I mean, I'm a man... and I notice certain things... and it's not as if I don't find the physical part of a relationship… enjoyable," he said haltingly. "But I could never take advantage of--"

"Malcolm, please," Trip cut him off, slightly horrified, now. "You don't need to tell me that. Of course you're not like that. I was just ribbing you."

An uncomfortable silence fell. Trip kicked himself for his harebrained idea of pulling Malcolm's leg on such a delicate issue. He should know the man better by now. He passed a hand through his hair, preparing to offer an apology.

"Look, I'm sorry. You know that I like to joke around," he said. "In any case, those of us who were taken over by those wisps acted out of character. You're in good company. At least you didn't try to kill anyone, unlike me."

That got Malcolm's attention. His face seemed to relax fractionally.

"What do you look for, in a woman?" he asked, all of a sudden.

Trip's eyes tracked to a pair of inquisitive grey eyes. He blinked. "Well, it depends," he croaked out, taken aback.

"On what?" Malcolm asked with a frown.

"On what I have to do with her. I mean," Trip quickly went on, seeing the expression on his friend's face turn disapproving, "on whether she's a work colleague, or a friend, or--"

"A _woman_," Malcolm repeated meaningfully.

Trip cast a look towards the access tube's exit, wishing Müller would make a timely appearance. Despite his own fame as a Casanova, he suspected Malcolm had more experience with the fair sex than he did.

"Well, to be honest looks is fairly up in the list," he began. Unoriginal, but true, while he thought of something else to say.

Malcolm nodded encouragingly.

"Sense of humour, individuality," Trip went on. "I don't like the stereotyped doll on high heels, or a woman with only looks and no brain."

"Definitely the worst type," Malcolm agreed. "There has to be personality."

Trip sighed. "Ah – in the end it's no use," he concluded, with a dismissive wave of the hand that was hanging loosely over his raised knee. "Love is unpredictable. You might think you like blondes, and then a dark-haired girl crosses your path and you find she's the love of your life, if you know what I mean."

Malcolm shot him a troubled look. "I don't think I'll ever find the 'love of my life'," he muttered, eyes darting quickly away.

"Why the hell not?"

"I told you, that time in the Shuttlepod; I can't get close to people." Lettin out a mirthless huff, Malcolm added, almost to himself, "And maybe I shouldn't, with my line of work."

Trip didn't really know what to say to that. It was pretty downcast. And his friend's unease wasn't helping.

"But if I did find someone special, I would indeed want it to be for life," Malcolm went on. His eyes were still carefully averted as he concluded, "I guess that's what I meant when I said I'm the romantic type."

It figured – Trip mused. The man was never superficial. He did things with characteristic intensity, gave it his one hundred percent.

There was another long moment of silence.

"Maybe it's not that you're havin' a hard time gettin' close to people," Trip suggested. "Maybe it's the other way round: people find you so intense, so committed, that they are kind of afraid to even try to get close; afraid you'll expect too much of them."

The grey eyes came back to him, wary. "You think so?" Malcolm wondered quietly. He gave another mirthless huff. "That's hardly reassuring."

Wincing inwardly, Trip looked for a way to explain his thoughts better. He was managing to make a total mess of this. "Hey, that's not necessarily a bad thing," he said with a small smile. "Some people you want to keep at arm's length. And when you find someone willin' to get close, you can be sure they'll be worth your time."

Another thoughtful pause followed.

Trip bit his lip. "Take me, for example; I like the intensity you can communicate."

Malcolm blinked once. "Are you proposing, Commander?"

Relieved to see a small smile finally dawn on his friend's face, Trip rolled his eyes.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm cursed softly. "Love must be the only thing that has remained exactly the same since Adam and Eve; still the same messy and complicated business as on day one."

"Put your mind at ease, Lieutenant. I'm afraid love is nothin' but a futile subject of conversation aboard the Enterprise; unless you can convince Starfleet to change the rules, that is."

"Or unless you can find a beautiful alien," Malcolm suggested, darting him a sly glance.

Indeed, since the beginning of their mission, Trip had collected a few romances out here in space. He nudged Malcolm with one foot. "As for that," he said innocently, "we have one on board – you've got to admit, that wisp had good taste."

"Trip!"

Trip let himself go to a liberating laugh.

"Even though she does not wear a Starfleet uniform, she's still a senior officer of this crew," Malcolm warned, unnecessarily.

"All right." Trip started to pick himself up from the floor. "Then we'll have to find some other beautiful alien."

"I'd rather not, thank you." Malcolm followed suit and they started along the tube, towards the exit. "After Risa, your pregnancy, that poor girl who lived surrounded by holograms, and that haughty Princess, the sight of a beautiful alien will only get me nervous."

"Very unromantic."

A groan met that comment.

The hatch at the end of the tube opened and Trip saw a face appear. Müller watched them approach, his green eyes assessing his SIC; then dancing to him with a smile in them.

The Armoury felt large and cold, after spending some time in that hot hole of an access tube.

"Bridge duty is in ten minutes, Sir," Bernhard reminded his Commanding Officer.

"Ten minutes?" Malcolm cried out. "That's hardly enough time for a cup of coffee! I'm starved."

Trip chuckled. "Come on, Lieutenant," he said, herding Malcolm towards the door. "The Captain won't demote you if for once you're a few minutes late."

"Run a diagnostic, Bernhard," Malcolm instructed over his shoulder. "Check if everything reads okay now."

"Aye, Sir."

The tall Ensign gave Trip a relieved and grateful nod. Indeed, a troubled Lieutenant Reed must not be a pleasant Commanding Officer to have around, Trip mused as he followed his friend out of the Armoury.

"So," he said with a sideway glance as they strode to the turbo lift. "Where did those wisps send you: onto Admiral Nelson's ship? To Sherwood Forest with bow and arrows? To Malaysia? – Come on, Malcolm, you can tell me."

"Why, because you like the intensity I can communicate?"

Trip shrugged. "Yes," he said with a grin.

They walked another few steps in silence.

"First kiss," Malcolm said quietly. "And, bloody hell! A memorable one it was."

Trip felt his mouth twitch.

"She had the softest lips I--"

Just then T'Pol rounded the bend in the corridor, coming from the other direction. She shot Malcolm a surprised look. Ah – those Vulcan ears…

"Subcommander," Trip greeted, grinning widely; all the more so because he was aware, with his peripheral vision, of Malcolm snapping straighter as he mumbled his own greeting.

"Commander, Lieutenant."

T'Pol's voice was level as usual, but that of course meant nothing.

"Please shoot me right here and end my suffering," Malcolm groaned as soon as he was sure she could not hear him. He stopped, closed his eyes, and went on, theatrically, "What matters any more, but only love? There's only love that matters any more."

"There's only love, the rest is all outspent," Trip finished for him, pleased to see Malcolm's jaw drop. "D. H. Lawrence, _We Have Gone Too Far_. Though I'm pretty sure he wasn't referring to either one of us and T'Pol."

Malcolm was frozen in place for a couple of seconds; then smiled. "Let us rise up and go from out this grey," he continued, starting to walk again.

Trip burst out laughing. "You want me to shoot you, and rob the universe of such an inveterate romantic? Oh, no! I cannot be that cruel!"

THE END

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